


BabyBirds and BatHugs

by liv_andlet_die



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Batfamily Feels, Batman - Freeform, Bruce Has Issues, Bruce being a DadTM, Dysfunctional Family, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lots of Crying, Nightwing - Freeform, Red Hood - Freeform, Red Robin, Robin - Freeform, Swearing, and hugs, but he's fixing them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 22:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liv_andlet_die/pseuds/liv_andlet_die
Summary: Bruce Wayne has a lot of emotional baggage. He also has a lot of kids. When he gets close to losing some of them all over again, Superman convinces him to confront his feelings.___________________________Set during/after Batman (2016) #17. Y'know, the one after the Batkids go after Bane and get strung up and Bruce takes them to the Fortress of Solitude for Clark to 'keep safe'. Except this time Clark doesn't just go along with it. Also Tim isn't dead in this, or at least he's back again. This isn't linear within the Rebirth storyline, it's kind of a mashup of all their stories/timelines. It's just a lot of feelings, okay?





	1. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce goes into Overprotective Dad Mode and Clark isn't having it.

“I need you to keep them safe for four days.”

“Bruce….”

“It’s him or me. No one else.”

There’s a moment of silence between Batman and Superman, and Batman thinks he’s won his case.

“Bruce, you need to talk to them.”

When Clark grabs his wrist and yanks him back towards him, Bruce’s mind flashes to the stash of Kryptonite in the Batcave. Luckily for Clark, they aren’t in the Batcave. They happen to be in the Fortress of Solitude, where Batman had brought his ~~half-dead~~ stubborn children. To keep them safe. His lips press together tightly at the admission, and his eyes narrow behind the cowl.

“You know why they did this. You have to.” Clark’s expression is hard, but not cold. Determined, but not unfriendly.

Bruce glares.

Clark lets go of his wrist with a sigh, moving instead to cross his arms. “I’ve been your friend for a long time, Bruce. I know you. And I know your kids.”

He can feel himself curling inwards at the thought of where this was going, and he curses his body’s natural reaction to these conversations. Clark was never one to mince words when it came to his best friend’s emotional constipation.

 “This is too far, even for you, Bats.” Superman shakes his head.

“They disobeyed a direct order, Clark. And it nearly got them killed, Bane is too dangero-“

“Jesus, Bruce!” Clark throws his arms in the air in frustration. “Do you even hear yourself? ‘A direct order’? These are your kids, not your little soldiers. Not that any of them would know the difference at this point.”

That one stings. Not that he lets it show.

Clark is on a roll now and Bruce knows better than to interrupt the Kryptonian when he gets going like this.

“Does Dick know that you’re actually glad that he’s not like you? That he’s not the next big bad Bat? Does Jason know that you’re proud to be his father, despite everything? Has Tim ever been made to feel worthy of his place in this ridiculous family of yours?”

His chest is tight now, every word like a blow to his stomach. Clark doesn’t stop.

“Thank god for those three though, right? Because at least through them you’ve managed to learn enough to be a decent father to Damian. But there’s always a cost with you Bats, isn’t there?”

He’s backing away from Clark now, actually stumbling over his own feet to place some distance between them. He wasn’t expecting this. Doesn’t have time for this. But he can’t seem to muster up the energy to fight back. It doesn’t help that the motion brings him closer to the stasis pods.

Clark has never been this brutal with him before. Even when he had first adopted Dick and was screwing up constantly, Clark always had endless patience. Now, it seemed like the Blue Boy Scout had completely run out.

“You need to do something about this, Bruce.” Superman steps forward as Batman backs away, jabbing a finger at the symbol on his chest. “We’re the protectors of this world, but how can you defend humanity when you can’t keep your own family safe from your mistakes?”

“Enough!” Bruce plants his hands on Clark’s chest and shoves hard. The retaliation is unexpected enough that Clark actually moves back, if only a fraction. His resolve is too strong. “Enough, Clark. Please.”

The words are quiet, and his voice breaks ever-so-slightly. Clark’s gaze softens. He was passionate when it came to family, but he hadn’t meant to hurt Bruce.

Okay, maybe he meant to a little bit, but only for good reason. Sometimes Bruce’s walls are too thick. Sometimes they need a few cracks.

Taking a step back, Clark lets his friend breathe for a moment before laying a firm hand on his shoulder. “I know you love them. I think they do too, but you should tell them more often. And tell them why.”

Bruce’s shoulders are slumped, and after a moment he yanks the cowl off, revealing glassy eyes and a brow far too creased for a man his age. He looks over at the stasis pods a few feet from them. Three of his sons are frozen inside, healing from an altercation too painful to think about. They’re so young. All of them, so much younger than he was when he started all of this.

Dick is almost that age now, having just turned twenty-three. It’s still hard to believe that his first Robin is all grown up. Sometimes he still sees that nine-year-old boy with tears and vengeance in his bright blue eyes and is infinitely glad that he had quelled those feelings so early on. By thirteen, Dick Grayson was (mostly) a care-free child again. Not that it had lasted long.

That was Bruce’s fault.

He raises his arm and grips Clark’s wrist, as his friend’s hand is still on his shoulder. Bruce just holds on, using it as an anchor. It takes him a moment to find his voice.

“I will.”


	2. The First Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce goes to Jason and they hash things out. Bruce emotes. Jason is angry. The hugs begin

It didn’t take long to figure out which safehouse Red Hood was staying in. Of all of his hideaways, this one wasn’t too far from his makeshift Cave. Easier access to his resources. Smart kid.

He figured he should start with Jason. If he didn’t he knew there would be hell to pay on all sides. Particularly from Dick.

Bruce stands in front of the door for what feels like an eternity, leaning one arm against the doorframe for support as he tries to gather enough courage to do what’s needed. He’s always been able to do what was necessary in the field, whatever that meant. So why is _this_ so damn difficult?

Eventually, his knuckles are rapping against the ragged wood and his breath is hitching in his chest as his second son opens the door, his expression one of guarded confusion.

“Um. Hi.”

The corners of his mouth turn upward into the most disarming smile he can muster. “Hello Jason. Do you mind if I come in?”

The confusion only becomes more apparent. “Um. Sure?”

The boy (god, he’s not a boy anymore, he’s almost as tall as Bruce and well on his way to being just as broad) holds the door open and stands to the side, allowing Bruce to enter. The place is more well-kept than he was expecting. The floor is clear of debris and the coffee table only has a few old take-out containers littered across it. The couch actually has a spare blanket draped along the back. Alfred would be proud.

“Uh, not that it’s not… y’know, good to see you,” Jason mumbles, closing the door hesitantly behind him, “but um, what are you doing here?”

“Do you have some time to talk?” Bruce asks.

The ~~boy~~ young man cocks an eyebrow, folding his arms defensively across this chest. “About what?”

“Well… me, I suppose.”

Now both eyebrows are raised well into his shaggy bangs. “You? You came here to talk to me about… you?”

Bruce sighs, rubbing a hand over his face in an attempt to quell the odd surge of guilt and panic in his chest, “No. I mean, I suppose so, yes. Can we just sit down?”

Jason stares at him for a moment, as though he’s trying to figure out what the hell is wrong with his adoptive father this time, before shrugging and gesturing towards the couch. Bruce sits down on one side while Jason snags a wooden chair from the kitchen and sits across from him. Bruce tries not to feel slighted by the fact that Jason won’t sit next to him.

“Alright then, talk.”

Bruce tries to calm the pounding in his chest, running his suddenly clammy palms over his knees. He doesn’t know where to start. Hadn’t really thought this through before coming here (which was highly out of character) and is starting to wonder why he had even come in the first place.

The image of his children half dead and hanging from the ceiling of the Batcave flashes behind his eyes.

Right. That’s why.

“I’ve never been one to call myself a good father.”

Jason flinches at the admission, obviously not expecting the conversation to start there, but Bruce ploughs on before the kid can respond.

“I never really thought that I would be a father at all, when I was young. Of course, the irony of my life now is not lost on me, but it’s true. I couldn’t imagine building a family after everything that I had lost. I’m much happier now, with our makeshift family, than I ever thought I would be.”

Bruce had been staring at the ground until this point. Now he looks up at Jason, who seems intrigued yet ready to bolt at a moments notice.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have regrets. What happened to you….” Jason flinches again, but this time it was more subtle. “That will always… I will always regret not reaching you in time. I will always reproach myself for the mistakes I made, and the ones you made that I should have prevented.”

Jason’s face is hard and expressionless, but his eyes give away too much.

“And yet, despite all of that…” Bruce swallows, then reaches out slowly to place his hand on Jason’s knee. His son is rigid under his touch, unresponsive. “I don’t regret who you are today. I don’t wish that you were someone else, because no one will ever know if you’d be any different if that… if you’d never…”

“Died.”

It’s Bruce’s turn to flinch this time, but he doesn’t move away from Jason.

“Yes. Despite all of that, and all our differences, I’m still proud of you.”

Jason tenses up.

“I still love you, Jason. You’re still my son. Everything that happened… It doesn’t change that.”

“Where the _fuck_ is this coming from?”

Bruce looks at him incredulously, then barks out a laugh. “Jason-“

“No, really, who are you and what have you done with my emotionally crippled mentor?”

Bruce shakes his head, a chuckle rumbling through his chest at that. “I just thought I should tell you, in case… well, in case I didn’t get another chance to.”

Jason’s bewildered expression warps into something else as Bruce watches him put the pieces together. He can see a quiet fury welling in Jason’s eyes.

“This is because of what happened with Bane.”

Bruce doesn’t get a chance to confirm or deny that.

“Y’know, that’s all well and dandy, Bruce. Really, lovely to hear. Glad to know that my almost dying again has brought all this out. But how about we talk about the one colossal mistake you made?” Jason cocks an eyebrow, “How about we crack open that can of worms?”

He grimaces and lookes down at the ground again. “Jason…”

“No, no.” The boy raises his hand to silence his father, “Let’s have this one out, dear old dad. Let’s hear it one more time: I die, get resurrected, then come back to find out that _you let my murderer live_.”

The hole in Bruce’s chest begins to deepen, the pure poison in Jason’s voice ripping through him like acid.

“You can talk all about how _proud_ you are and how _regretful_ you are but clearly those emotions weren’t strong enough to make you want to kill the son of a bitch that took your _dear_ son away fro-”

“I did want to.”

Jason’s mouth hangs open, his angry monologue paused. “Wait… what.”

“You think I didn’t want to?” Bruce asks, his voice quiet in the way that means he’s barely holding himself in check. “You think I didn’t want to choke the life out of him… the way he did to you?”

He’d never told Jason this before. His son looks angry, still, but it’s bubbling under the surface now. No longer cascading off him, held in just a fraction. It’s enough for Bruce to keep going.

“You think it still doesn’t haunt me every day that I have to let the Joker live?”

Jason scowls, “Why the hell do you have to? What’s stopping-“

“You have no idea.” Bruce snarls and he doesn’t mean to but it shuts Jason up for just a second. “You don’t… I’m not like you, Jason. Killing isn’t… it wouldn’t be the same for me. I can’t _let_ myself do it. My code… it’s what keeps me from becoming one of the monsters that I fight every night in this damn city.”

Jason’s eyes are tight, and his muscles are coiled defensively, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to interrupt.

“You don’t know the darkness in me, Jason.” Bruce continues, “None of you do. You all have your own demons, but despite everything, you all have this… light, inside you. It’s what keeps me going, what makes me fight this damn war every day. But none of you know how close I have always been to being just another animal that this city chews up and spits out. It’s my code that ensures that I never cross that line. All of our Gotham monsters, they’re just people who’ve had too much go wrong and been left to rot in the darkness. People like _me_. I don’t kill because I believe in their chance to come back into the light. I don’t kill… because I don’t think I have enough light left to come back to if I did…”

There’s so much silence between them now. It’s almost deafening and goes on forever. That could be Bruce’s racing pulse in his eardrums, though.

It’s Jason that breaks the silence with a sigh, burying his face in his hands.

“God, you’re a melodramatic moron.”

Bruce blinks. “Excuse me?”

“No wonder we’re all like this, we get it from you.”

“Wait, get what?”

Jason doesn’t bother answering that question, instead gathering himself up from his chair and flopping down onto the couch next to his father. “Bruce… You are not another Gotham monster.”

He opens his mouth to argue but Jason doesn’t let him.

“No, don’t.” He sighs, “You’re the goddamn Batman, Bruce. You’re the brightest fucking light in this city and everyone in Gotham knows that except you.”

Bruce doesn’t quite know what to say to that.

“You are the reason that this city is still standing, and without you, none of us would still have this ‘light’ inside us. None of us would be ‘fighting the good fight’ if it weren’t for you. You bring people together, Bruce. You don’t _need_ the code to keep yourself in check. You would already do that anyway. That’s just who you are and that’s why it’s _so damn infuriating_. ‘Every life is worth saving’, isn’t that what you always say?”

He’d come here to tell his son that he loved him. He’s here to make sure his son knows that he is, in fact, still his son and that would never change. He hadn’t expected to come here and have his most detached child psychoanalyze him to the point of speechlessness in just a few short quips.

Bruce isn’t always one for physical affection. There are more comfortable ways to provide validation, in his opinion, but he knows that had impacted a lot of his kids when they were younger. He’s trying to work on that now, so he doesn’t really think about it when he pulls Jason in for a hug.

The kid goes rigid again, as though he might push Bruce away. He’ll let him, if that’s what he wants, but he hopes that Jason would let them have this moment. There would always be tensions between them, that’s just the way it has to be for now. Despite Jason’s promise to stop killing, Bruce would always have that little snag of paranoia in the back of his mind that he wishes he could just carve away. He wants to trust his son fully, but he doesn’t know if that can happen. He’ll settle for this middle ground instead, though, if he has to.

If Jason lets him.

After a few moments of anxious waiting (on Bruce’s side), Jason slowly raises his arms and wraps them around Bruce’s midsection, like he used to do when he was little (the few times that Bruce would actually hug him). His cheek comes down to rest on Bruce’s shoulder, and the second his father’s chin settles on the top of his head Jason’s arms squeeze tighter around him. Just like that, they’re both suddenly so much younger, clinging to each other in a moment of desperation, glad that the other was alive.

Bruce doesn’t know how long they sat in that embrace. It seems to say a lot of the things they both want to without having to speak at all. It ties up all the loose ends of their conversation. They’re at a stalemate now, and they both seem to be okay with it.

It’s Jason who pulls away after a while. His eyes are glassy, and he clears his throat as he moves to sit back, not looking his father in the eyes. Neither of them really know where to go from here.

Bruce lets a minute go by, then smiles and reaches out to ruffle Jason’s hair. “You need a haircut.”

Jason scoffs, half-heartedly swatting Bruce’s hand away.

“You should come by the manor, let Alfred do it for you.” Bruce is pushing it now; he knows how Jason feels about going to the manor. But he figures if there’s a time to try, this is it.

He huffs, running his fingers through his shaggy locks with slight contempt. “Yeah, I bet he’d love that.”

Jason’s words are coated in sarcasm, but Bruce nods all the same. “He would.”

That makes Jason pause, and Bruce notes the change in expression that comes with thoughts of his adopted grandfather, as well as the home the boy once had. Still has, though he doesn’t seem to know it.

“You’re always welcome to come back, Jason.” Bruce murmurs, “The door will always be open.”

 “… I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are things ever clear cut between Jason and Bruce? No. Do they ever part ways with a perfect understanding of each other? Nope. But do they love each other despite it all and try to leave things in the best place that they can? You bet they do.
> 
> Also yes, Jason is very 'Under the Red Hood' in this and there are reasons for that. And those reasons are that I love to write angry Jason.


	3. On a Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce finds Tim on a case and Worried Dad Mode activates. Tim is a bean and Bruce just wants to help. There's actually some crying in this one, watch out ya'll.

When Bruce gets back to the manor, Alfred is waiting for him at the door. The butler tilts his head to the side: a silent question. Bruce nods as he enters, and Alfred smiles softly in return.

“Who’s home, Alfred?”

The two of them walk side by side out into the entrance hall. Alfred gestures to the main study: the entrance to the Batcave.

“Master Timothy is downstairs, working on a case. He’s been there for several hours now. Master Damian is out training with the Titans for the afternoon, he won’t be home until suppertime.”

Bruce nods again, looking over at the study without really seeing it. He isn’t sure if he’s ready for another emotionally draining conversation, but Tim’s… different, to Jason at least. And he already has some momentum, so why stop now?

“Thank you, Alfred. I’ll go and speak to Tim now.” Bruce turns to the butler again, who smiles knowingly. “Would you mind bringing us down some coffee?”

Alfred’s easy smile is replaced with a grimace. “He’s already had four cups since waking up, Master Bruce, which was when he began work on the case.”

Bruce chuckles, heading towards the study. “I need him awake for this, Al. One more cup shouldn’t do too much harm.”

Alfred shakes his head as he begins walking towards the kitchen, muttering under his breath about ‘one more cup, my left-’ something or rather. Bruce smothers another laugh as he goes in the opposite direction. The battle between Tim’s coffee addiction and Alfred’s desire for moderation will always be endlessly entertaining to the billionaire.

Bruce takes the service elevator down to the Cave. The trip is too quick for Bruce’s liking as he thinks over all the things he wants to say. Tim is so different to Jason. They can’t just hash things out in an argument; he needs a different approach. Too soon, the expanse of the Batcave is appearing below him.

Tim is sitting at the Batcomputer, curled up in Bruce’s chair in such a godawful tangle of limbs that even Dick would be impressed. Images and files flick across the screen almost too quickly for Bruce to read. He can process things pretty damn fast, but Tim’s mind is on a whole other level. The thought is bittersweet. The boy (he can still call him that, Tim’s only eighteen) is so bright, his heart hurts.

How does that phrase go?

‘Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.’

If only Hemingway had known Timothy Drake-Wayne.

Bruce comes up behind the computer chair and lays a hand on Tim’s shoulder, noticing that he’s in his Red Robin costume. Alfred said he had gotten to work as soon as he woke up. Did he fall asleep in that thing again?

“Hey Timmy.”

Tim jumps slightly at the touch, then relaxes when he realizes who it is. “Oh, hey Bruce.”

“How’s it going?” Bruce’s presence is no distraction to Tim’s concentration, made apparent by the continued flickering of case files across the screen.

 “Honestly?” Tim sighs, slumping down even further into the chair. “I’ve hit the wall.”

Bruce nods, knowing the feeling all too well. Tim keeps searching through the files for another thirty seconds before letting out a frustrated breath. He closes the folder and reaches out for a mug that Bruce hadn’t realized he still had. The boy grimaces at what must have been unexpectedly cold coffee.

Tim swallows down the offending liquid before placing the mug back on the console, turning in his seat to face his father. His hair is falling in his eyes, the glow of the computer screen highlighting the sheen of a few days grease. The bags under his eyes are getting worse. Bruce curses himself for not noticing sooner. He’d only recently realized how little sleep the kid gets. Using the costume as pajamas probably doesn’t help, and it’s not like Bruce himself sets a good example in that respect.

“What have you been up to?”

“I went to see Jason.”

Tim blinks. Then his lips turn up into a smirk. “What did Big Red Riding Hood do this time?”

Bruce barely manages to keep from rolling his eyes. “Nothing, actually. I just wanted to talk.”

Anyone but Bruce, or maybe Dick, wouldn’t be able to tell but as his shoulders square up just slightly and his jaw sets more tightly, Bruce knows he’s gotten Tim’s attention.

“Oh?” Tim fiddles with a rogue batarang laying on the console, deliberately not looking at his father. He can tell that the boy wants to ask why, but also doesn’t want to pry. It’s not like Bruce stops to check in with Jason on a regular basis, so he doesn’t fault him for being curious. Though there may be a little hurt in his eyes too.

“Yeah.” Bruce snags a spare computer chair and wheels it over, sitting down next to Tim and resting his elbows on his knees. “I was hoping I could talk to you too, if that’s okay.”

The teenager’s eyes finally leave the batarang in his hands, Tim’s calculating baby blues meeting Bruce’s and his head tilting in question. Bruce resists the urge to smile at the familiar mannerism. Tim does tend to spend a lot of time with the butler.

“What about?”

That familiar tightness in his chest returns. Bruce fights against it, maintaining eye contact and taking a deep breath.

“Well,” He begins, “I thought we could start with this.” Bruce plucks at the cape wrapped around Tim’s slight form,

“My costume?” Tim asks, clearly confused.

“More like the fact that you’ve been sleeping in it.” Bruce deadpans, giving Tim a bit of a ‘look’.

His son shifts in his seat, uncomfortable now. “It’s not all the time…”

“More often than not.”

“It’s not on purpose.”

Bruce sighs. The conversation is taking a turn that he doesn’t like. “I know that, Tim. That’s kind of the point. How many hours are you putting in, lately?”

Tim shrugs, “I dunno. Don’t really keep track. Do you?”

Bruce can feel his patience slipping. Tim has a knack for deflecting and it infuriates Bruce to no end, but it won’t get the best of him this time.

“No, I suppose not.” Bruce says after a moment, “But we’re not talking about my bad habits right now, we’re talking about yours. Why have you been working so hard lately, Timmy?”

Tim is tense now, still curled up in that ridiculous position. “There’s a lot to do. Keeps me busy.”

Bruce figures that if there’s a good time to get into it, this would be his best opportunity.

“So, it has nothing to do with you feeling like you need to earn your place in this family?”

Tim flinches visibly, a clear indicator that he wasn’t prepared for that. “I don’t know what you mean…”

Bruce leans forward, tilting his head to the side to mirror Tim.

“Really? You mean you’re not aware that you overwork yourself to the point of exhaustion because you think you need to prove yourself to all of us?”

The boy had been avoiding his gaze again up until this point, but now Tim’s eyes flick back up and Bruce almost shivers from the ice in that glare. He’d be proud if the look was fixed on anyone but him.

“What are you, my therapist?”

Bruce can tell Tim hadn’t meant to snap, hadn’t meant for that to come out razor sharp. He can tell it’s the exhaustion coming through. Bruce himself had snapped one too many times at the people he loved because he was running on fumes. He can see Tim trying not to recoil from his own tone of voice, watching the boy reprimand himself internally. God, he’s too much like Bruce sometimes.

“No.” Bruce says softly, trying to convey his immediate forgiveness. “But I’m trying to be a better father.”

Tim’s gaze softens just a bit. It takes him a minute to respond. “You’re a good father, Bruce.”

Bruce laughs without mirth, shaking his head. “I could definitely do with some improvement.”

“Bruce-“

“No, Tim. This isn’t about my shortcomings, as much as I’m working on them. This is about what my failure has done to you.”

The boy grimaces at that, looking like he’s going to say something about it, but Bruce doesn’t give him the chance.

“Tim, you are so incredibly special.” He begins, which manages to keep his son quiet for the moment, if only from the shock. “You have no idea how important you are to everyone in this family, and it is my fault that you don’t know that. I have pushed you too hard. I never give you, any of you, any chance to breathe.”

It’s not surprising that Tim isn’t interrupting now. He’s not hot-headed like Jason, or quite as stubborn as Dick. Tim just takes it and Bruce is sort of grateful. He knows the boy’s mind is going a mile a minute trying to figure out where this is coming from, but he wants to get it all out and if he had to stop now he doesn’t know if he could pick it up again.

“I know that you’ve accepted this life, that it’s what you want to do. You’re so different to your brothers. You chose this, came after it with reckless abandon and I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve admired you for it. Honestly, you’re so much like me in that respect that I’m worried about you.”

Now Tim looks like he wants to say something. As if being like Bruce couldn’t possibly be as bad as he’s implying.

“You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone, Tim. Especially me.” Bruce hangs his head in shame. “I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel that way. I’m sorry that I’ve pushed you so hard, made you push yourself so hard. I just want you to be happy and healthy, nothing more. Anything else that you are is a goddamn blessing.”

Bruce’s eyes are stinging now, and he has to swallow hard around the lump in his throat. He has to keep going.

“You’re my son. I know that it’s different for you. I know your real parents will always hold something special in you, and they should. But I need you to know that no matter how long you’ve legally been mine, I’ve considered you to be one of my children since almost the beginning, and nothing will ever change that. Nothing will ever take away your place in this family.”

He watches in terror as a tear finally slips out. He’s leaning so far forward in his chair that it just falls to the ground between his feet. This whole time Tim has been as still as a statue. The only thing telling Bruce that he’s listening is the slight twitch of his eyebrows every time his father says something he doesn’t quite agree with.

Bruce has a split second to hope that Tim doesn’t see the tear, doesn’t think less of him for it, before his son is lunging out of his chair.

Tim crashes into Bruce’s chest and clings to him with both arms, fingers digging into his back. Bruce’s awkward position in his own chair forces Tim to kneel on the ground as he hugs him, his face buried in Bruce’s collarbone. Bruce is surprised for a moment, frozen in place, before returning the hug full-force. Tim is squeezing the air out of his lungs and he’s definitely getting his shirt wet, but Bruce can’t find it in him to care, just pressing his face into Tim’s dark locks and reveling in this rare moment.

It’s not often Tim goes for a hug, but despite Bruce’s reservations about physical affection, he could never deny Tim when he initiated it. This was just another one of those times. Maybe it was something about the third time being the charm, or maybe just something about Tim in general, but Bruce always found himself being just a bit more indulgent with Tim than he had been with Dick or Jason.

They stay like that for a while in silence, Bruce holding Tim tighter every time he feels a shuddering sob, before something’s mumbled against his shoulder.

“What was that?” Bruce asks softly, shifting so that Tim’s face isn’t so pressed against his neck. It’s a wonder the kid hasn’t suffocated.

“Thank you.” Tim repeats, his voice heavy with emotion. “I don’t-… I can’t…”

Bruce hushes him, stroking his hair gently with one hand, the other pressed against his back. He’s still so young. Tim had been forced to mature so quickly that sometimes Bruce forgets that he’s still just a teenager. Yet somehow, every time he hugs one of his kids they revert back to being as little as he can remember them.

“You’re-… You’re a good dad, Bruce.” Tim mumbles, the words deep and shaky. “You just happen to be Batman too.”

Bruce lets out a watery chuckle at that, which makes Tim laugh too. Soon enough they’re just a teary, giggling heap on the floor of the Batcave, Bruce having slipped off his chair to wrap Tim in a more secure embrace. They sit like that for a while, content in each others company. Sitting in silence with Tim is always comfortable, and the physical contact makes it even easier, neither of them having to speak to convey how they feel.

After a while, Tim seems to change his mind about that, pulling back from the embrace and wiping clumsily at his face. He lets out a shaky huff and looks up at Bruce with red-rimmed eyes.

“It’s not all your fault, y’know.” He starts, curling up and hugging his knees against his chest. “I know my parents loved me, but… They weren’t always around. And when I was a kid, I blamed myself for it.”

Bruce’s heart clenches. Tim never really talks about his parents like that, and even when he does, it’s concerningly casual. Tim takes another breath, and Bruce just lets him keep going. The boy looks like he needs to get this out as much as Bruce had needed to say everything else.

“They weren’t… neglectful, or anything. I mean not in an abusive sense. But it got to me. I thought if I could prove to them that I was worth the time, they would stay longer the next time they came back.” He sighs, his shoulders hunching in a little bit. It seems difficult for Tim to say these things.

“I guess that part of me is still in here somewhere… I know, rationally, that you and everybody here loves me. I get that. But… it’s just kind of hard when you’re surrounded by talented people and you’re used to fighting for attention.”

Bruce lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and wraps an arm around his son’s shoulders again, pulling him against his side. “Even if you weren’t one of the most gifted people I know, Timmy, you are worth something for just being _you_. You don’t need to fight for anyone’s attention, especially mine. The next time you feel like that, please come tell me, okay?”

Tim lets out a shaky breath, nodding. “… okay.”

They continue to sit like that for while, listening to the sound of fluttering bat wings echoing through the Cave. It’s a while before Bruce notices that they’re still alone and frowns in confusion. “I wonder where Alfred is? I asked him to bring some coffee down when I got home. How long have we been here?”

Tim looks down at his watch, about to respond, before the tell-tale clanging of gears and pulleys signals the arrival of the service elevator. As if on cue, Alfred enters the Batcave with a tray of mugs and a steaming French press.

If the butler’s concerned about their position on the floor, he doesn’t show it.

“Your coffee, Master Bruce.” Alfred places the tray down on the console, pouring out the steaming liquid and waiting for the two men to stand up before handing them their mugs. “I do ask that you will _share_ this pot between the two of you.”

Tim has the decency to look sheepish, nodding as he brings the mug to his lips with both hands. Alfred sighs and gives Bruce a withering look, who simply grins in return.

Bruce loops an arm around Tim’s neck, bumping their hips playfully. Tim chuckles and leans into the fatherly gesture. They’re both enjoying this newfound understanding of each other. Bruce is glad that Tim seems to be lightening up a bit.

An engine roar echoes through out the Cave, and the three of them turn to watch as Robin comes speeding in on his bike. The vehicle comes to a screeching halt in it’s designated spot and Damian hops off, removing his helmet and ruffling his fingers through his flattened hair. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that the three of them are watching him.

“What?”

Bruce manages to fight the urge to laugh at his other son’s theatrics but is unable to hold back his smile.

“How was training?”

Damian scoffs and walks towards them, removing his gloves. He seems ready to go off on a tangent about his teammates, then pauses, looking between Tim and his father. Bruce realizes that he still has his arm wrapped around the older boy. Damian’s face goes stoic as he turns towards the changing room, beginning to rip off other pieces of his costume.

“Fine.”

Bruce sighs as his youngest stomps away from them, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. This is turning out to be a very long day.

He realizes that Tim is snickering into his coffee mug and Bruce moves to cuff him over the head, gently. Tim continues laughing as he ducks out of the way but swears under his breath as the movement causes hot coffee to spill over his hand. It’s Bruce’s turn to laugh now, which prompts a half-hearted BatGlare from Tim. Alfred rolls his eyes at their antics, picking up the now empty tray from the console and walking away without a word.

Tim places the mug down gingerly on the console before wiping his hand on the back of his cape. “Guess you better go have a chat with the demon brat.”

“Hey,” Bruce warns, “what have I said about calling him ‘demon brat’?”

“Um, that it’s hilarious?” Tim suggests, still snickering. Bruce lets that one go. He unclasps his utility belt and hangs it over his shoulder, moving to walk past Bruce. “I’m gonna go change for dinner.”

 “Good idea, god knows Alfred would have your head if you came to the table in that.” He says, and they both shudder at the thought. Bruce lays a hand Tim’s shoulder as he begins to move away. “Hey… try to keep from wearing it around the house in general, okay? Just… for both our sakes?”

Tim gives him another small smile. He seems to know what Bruce is trying to say. He reaches up to give his hand a squeeze.

“Okay, dad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I find that Bruce and Tim are very alike, as I'm sure many of you do. And I think that makes it hard for Bruce to confront things about himself that he sees in Tim, and that's it takes the World's Greatest Detective so long to figure out that his boy is suffering. Because sometimes it's hard to see what's right in front of you.
> 
> ~~~~~  
> Next: Damian's a little punk.


	4. Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian's a pout-y boy and Bruce just wants peace in the family. More hugs and Damian being a softy.

After checking with Alfred how much time he’d have until dinner, Bruce goes in search of his youngest child. He’d taken long enough that he knows the boy won’t be in the changing rooms still and has probably gone looking for his growing pack of animals throughout the manor. He checks Damian’s room first to no avail, then to the media room, which he isn’t really surprised to find empty.

He’s walking past the library, debating whether to look through the security feeds to see if the boy had gone outside when, low-and-behold, there he is; Damian’s lounging on the couch with his nose buried in a book. Titus, the ever-faithful hound, is laying on the floor directly beside him, and Alfred (the cat) had curled up on his chest.

Bruce knocks lightly on the door as he pokes his head in, announcing his entrance.

“Hi Damian. Mind if I join you?”

The boy looks up from his page, regarding his father for a moment before nodding. He closes the book, sitting up against the arm of the couch and tucking his feet under him to give Bruce some space to sit. The gesture is relaxed and casual, and Bruce feels a small moment of pride at that.

A few years ago, Damian would have either leapt to his feet at the entrance of his father or just completely ignored him, depending on how desperate for attention he was at the time. Now, Damian seems much more comfortable in their relationship, and in the manor itself. His movements aren’t as stiff or uncomfortable, and he doesn’t seem on edge anymore, at least without reason. Bruce supposes he has Dick to thank for that, prompting another moment of immense gratitude to his oldest son.

Bruce sits down across from Damian, laying an arm over the back of the couch.

“So, you want to talk more about training today?” He asks, “You didn’t really elaborate much earlier.”

Damian rolls his eyes. “It was… adequate. Beast Boy was ridiculous, as usual. Aqualad is making improvements, but still requires some discipline. Superboy joined us for combat training, as he’s still leaning far too much on brute strength alone. Overall, an average session.”

The boy, thirteen now, is starting to come into his own personality, instead of simply emulating those around him. A while ago, Damian would have spouted everything that went wrong with the session, everything that his teammates had done that didn’t live up to his standards. Now, however, Damian is beginning to lean into his kinder side. He’s not quite complimenting anyone yet, but this was progress.

“That’s good to hear.” Bruce replies, “Did you have fun?”

“It’s not meant to be fun.” Damian scoffs, “It’s training.”

“I dunno, I tend to have fun when I’m training. Usually when I’m kicking Clark’s as- butt. Clark’s butt.”

“You can say ‘ass’, Father. I’m a teenager now.”

“Not on your life, kiddo. Alfred would have strong words of his own with me if I did.”

Damian scowls again at the ‘kiddo’ comment. He strokes absentmindedly behind Alfred (the cat)’s ears, seeming to move past his annoyance.

Bruce clears his throat after a moment. “Y’know, Dami… I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

Damian had been smiling subconsciously down at the cat in his lap until his father spoke again. Now he looks up at him with mild curiosity. “Yes?”

“It’s about Tim.” He begins, and Damian’s face immediately drops back into an expression of annoyance. This is gonna be rough. “I know you two have your differences, but… Well, he’s your brother, Damian. He’s my son, too.”

“I am aware of our… unfortunate connection. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Well, that’s something. At least Damian is admitting that Tim’s his brother. Bruce had hoped that after everything that happened, with the both of them dying and having come back, and fighting the good fight together, they’d have… bonded, or something. At least come to terms with the fact that they were both a part of this family.

Tim doesn’t seem to have as much of a problem anymore, at least with Damian. Bruce knows he had been excited to have a little brother, and despite Damian’s… peculiarities, Tim is more accepting of the boy now and simply keeps up the ‘rivalry’ for Damian’s sake. The younger boy, however, still seems to be having issues with this particular brother.

“You seemed pretty upset earlier.” Bruce says slowly, wanting to keep the conversation easy for as long as possible. “Does it bother you when I hug Tim?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Bruce sighs, pulling a leg up onto the couch under the other and leaning a little closer to Damian, who crosses him arms and looks away.

“Damian, my giving affection to your brothers in no way diminishes the attention I give to you.”

“I know that.” He replies through gritted teeth.

Bruce appreciates the attempt at maintaining civility. “If you want a hug, you just have to ask for one. But the same goes for Tim, and Dick and Jason, too.”

Damian doesn’t bother replying to that.

“I… haven’t been a very good father, Damian. I know I’ve had to learn a lot in recent years, and I’m sorry you’ve had to pay for some of that. It seems as though I can never learn fast enough before there’s… consequences.”

They both go quiet, memories of many deaths and near-ones flooding their minds.

Too many.

“I just… I’m trying to be better. For all of you. That means that I’m trying to be more… well, affectionate, for a start. And trying to make sure you all know that you’re a part of this family. I know that being my son – my blood son – is something that’s important to you. It’s important to me, too. But I would really like for you to understand that family isn’t always about blood. Sometimes it’s about… choices. The people that we choose to love are equally as important as those– “

“’The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.’”

He pauses. “…What?”

“The full quotation of the usually misinterpreted phrase ‘blood is thicker than water’. It promotes the idea that the relationships we choose to foster are stronger than those that we are born into.”

Bruce smiles. Leave it to Damian to break out the dramatic quotes. As if Bruce didn’t need further confirmation that this kid is his son.

“Exactly.”

“Except I have no desire to foster a relationship with Drake.”

Aaand there goes that victory.

“Well, that’s your prerogative then.” Bruce replies, rubbing at his eyes in mild frustration. His third father-son chat of the day is beginning to wear on him. “But what I’m trying to say is… my relationship with Tim is just as strong as my relationship with you. He’s my son too and has been for a while now. He’s been… having a tough time lately, so I decided I’d have a talk with him and things got… a little emotional.”

“Tt.” Damian hunches his shoulders, curling further into the couch cushions.

“It’s not a bad thing, Damian. It was good for us to talk about it. It’s better to get it out as early as possible instead of letting things fester, usually before they come out later as a desire to dress in spandex and Kevlar. Trust me, I know.”

The teenager’s lips twitch at that. Bruce takes it as a good sign.

“So, if there’s ever anything you want to talk about, I’m here. I’m also going to be there for your brothers, but that doesn’t take away from my being here for you. My time is divided, yes, but equally so. All that I give to you is solely yours.”

Damian doesn’t respond at first, and Bruce’s heart starts to sink in disappointment before the boy nods once. It isn’t much, but it makes Bruce feel like he’s gotten through to his youngest today, and that’s enough for him. He takes a moment to let his words sink in a little more, then spreads his arms open, silently asking a simple question.

The boy doesn’t move, just tuts under his breath and starts petting the cat again. Bruce gives it a minute, then nods and drops his arms, standing up from the couch.

“Dinner will be ready soon, Alfred is-“

Suddenly there’s a cat jumping down onto his foot and a small hand is gripping the back of his shirt. Bruce turns back and sees Damian holding tight to the fabric. The boy is sitting at the edge of the couch, having shifted so quickly that Alfred (the cat) was forced off his lap. Bruce waits for a moment, just watching his son, before opening his arms again. Damian stands up and shuffles over the single step that Bruce had taken before hurling himself into his father’s embrace.

Damian’s face is buried in Bruce’s chest, so Bruce feels safe smiling broadly as he wraps Damian up in his arms. He has to lean quite a bit to press his face into the boy’s hair, but not as much as he used to. The kid is growing faster than he’d like. He smells like fresh shampoo and faintly of dog, a smell one can never quite wash out, and just a little bit like baby powder in a way that almost every parent can smell on their kid. Bruce had never known any of his children as infants, but Damian always seems to smell kind of like a baby to him.

They stand like that for a while, until Damian seems to relax into the hug. He shifts so his forehead is resting against Bruce’s chest, instead of his full face, muttering something under his breath. Bruce leans down as much as he can while maintaining the hug.

“What was that?”

“I said, thank you, Father…” Damian says louder, squeezing his arms around Bruce’s waist. “I will… make more of an attempt to speak to you about… such things. And… try not to… I won’t be upset when you provide Drake with physical comfort.”

Bruce runs this fingers through the boy’s hair, gently, as to not mess it up too much, his other hand rubbing small circles into his back. “That’s good, Damian, I’m glad.”

His fingers are still tangled in Bruce’s shirt, suddenly gripping tighter. “Perhaps… Perhaps you could tell me when he’s not having… I mean, if things get emotional again. I would not want to compromise the integrity of a mission by antagonizing him… at an inopportune time.”

Bruce tries not to chuckle. Translation: ‘I don’t want to bug Tim when he’s upset.’ Maybe Tim has grown on Damian after all.

“Okay, I can do that.” He replies. “Don’t tell him I said this, but I think Tim actually likes you now, Damian. Maybe you can put in a little effort to do that same with him.”

Bruce can feel Damian scowling against his chest. “Let’s not get carried away.”

Now he’s laughing, and Damian’s face is glaring up at him, lower lip stuck out in a very typical pout. “If you keep making that face, it’s gonna get stuck that way.”

Bruce thinks that’s the most ‘dad’ thing he’s ever said.

Damian’s expression turns into one of annoyed confusion. “What are you talking about? That’s not possible.”

His father just keeps laughing, and Damian pulls away from the hug, bringing his hands up to his face.

“Father, that’s not possible. Is it?”

Bruce doesn’t answer, instead just reaches out to ruffle the boy’s hair, rewarded with an indignant squawk as Damian tries to reassemble the mess. He feels a little bad that he got a kick out of messing with the kid. But only a little. He starts to walk speedily out of the room, a ball of teenage fury in his wake.

“Father!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than the last one, but that one was a bit of a doozy and Bruce doesn't have *as much* baggage to unpack with Damian as he does Tim. At least not yet.
> 
> Next up: A bit of a breather.


	5. Big Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick pays Clark a visit. Dick is incredulous and Clark is proud.

It’s a pleasant surprise to find Dick Grayson waiting in the lobby of the Daily Planet, chatting away with an enamored receptionist. The young acrobat is leaning casually against the side of the desk, his chin resting in both hands as he gives the woman his undivided attention. Clark doesn’t bother hiding his smile as he walks up behind his friend, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“This guy isn’t bothering you, is he, Marcie?” His tone of voice speaks volumes more than the question he asks, as well as the easy smile on his face as he glances at Dick.

The young woman shakes her head vigorously, “No, Clark, he’s been lovely! A friend of yours?”

“A good one, yeah.”

Dick turns to Clark and grins, poking him gently in the ribs. “This is the big fella I’ve been waiting for, Marcie. It’s been great getting to know you. I’ll text you later about that book, okay? I’m sure my brother will know which one you’re thinking of.”

“Thank you, Richard. I’ll be sure to send you the address to my brothers roastery as well. Have a good lunch, boys!”

The two men head towards the front doors of the Planet together, waving goodbye to Marcie as they go.

“Lunch, huh?” Clark asks, raising an eyebrow at his young friend as they came out onto the sidewalk.

“Yeah.” Dick shrugs, “I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d see if I could catch you in time for your break.”

It was nice to see Dick in good spirits. The last few times Clark had seen him he’d been… stressed, to say the least. Now Dick’s stance was relaxed, his body free from any pain (emotional or physical) as far as Clark could tell.

“Sounds good to me. You’re buying, though.” Clark bumps his shoulder teasingly against Dick’s, who barks out a laugh in return but doesn’t argue, following his friend to the diner across the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?” Clark asks, popping a french fry into his mouth. They’d managed to get a booth in the busy diner, ordering their food fairly quickly. Having it delivered to them equally as fast had left them with a good chunk of time to chat after finishing their meals. Now they were just sharing a plate of fries between them.

Dick sips at his strawberry milkshake, shrugging. “Some personal stuff, nothing end-of-the-world related, I promise. I actually just wanted to talk to you.”

Clark pauses, then nods. This could be about a multitude of things, but the Kryptonian had an hunch. “Okay, what’s up?”

“I spoke with Damian earlier this week. Just a usual check-in, nothing really out of the ordinary.” Dick begins, “Until he mentioned that he and Bruce had a ‘bonding moment’ a few days ago. Something about Damian being upset that Bruce was hugging Tim.”

Yep. His hunch was definitely onto something here.

“Bruce actually went and talked to him about it. Told him that just because he’s there for his brothers doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be there for Damian too. He admitted to having been a bad father, saying he was going to try harder. He hugged him.”

Dick’s tone was getting slightly incredulous. He didn’t seem like he was done explaining, so Clark just ate another fry and listened.

“Then I called Tim, to see if it was true. Not that I don’t trust Damian but… well, stranger things have happened. And Tim confirmed it, then said the same thing: Bruce came and talked to _him_ about his place in the family, about how much he loves Tim. Tim actually called it a heart-to-heart. They _cried_.”

Clark bit down on his tongue, trying not to smile. A surge of pride for his best friend welled up in his chest, but he willed it away and didn’t say anything. He just let Dick keep telling him what he had really hoped to hear.

“Then Tim said Bruce had gone to see Jason, too. So, I called Jay and got the same thing. Bruce went to his place and talked to him about his mistakes, and how fucked up he is. Bruce, that is, not Jason. He told _Jason_ he loved him, that he was still his son no matter what. They hugged too! Jason was still a little thrown from it, which y’know, valid.”

Dick’s hands were in his hair now, the look on his face a little wild.

“I just… I couldn’t believe it. Since… well, since Jason, Bruce has had a lot of trouble showing he cares about us. It’s been rough, especially for Tim and Damian. I’ve been hoping for a long time that Bruce would take the bo staff out of his ass and actually confront his feelings, but… all at once? I got kind of worried. I wondered if something had been done to him… cause, y’know, stranger things _have_ happened. But I think I figured it out.”

Dick fixes Clark with a familiar, calculating look, which the reporter avidly avoids.

“You talked to him, didn’t you?”

Clark sips at his soda, fiddling with the straw. Dick’s clear blue eyes could have burrowed holes into his skull with their intensity, and Clark thinks that right now it’s a good thing he’s invulnerable to most things.

A patent BatTM stare-down, though? Not usually one of those things.

“I may have… mentioned something to him.”

He could practically hear Dick thinking ‘gotcha!’ at the admission.

“What did you say?”

It was Clark’s turn to shrug, nibbling on another fry. Dick looked like he wanted to snatch it out of his hand to get an answer, but his usual patience seemed to win out.

“I just… Well, it was after you three went after Bane on your own. Bruce went a little… well, he went too far, and I might’ve… gone off on him, a bit…”

He could tell Dick wanted all the juicy details of _that_ incident, but Clark wasn’t exactly proud of how he’d acted that day.

“I just lost my patience with him, that’s all. You’re all like family to me, and now with Jon… well, you know I’m a little protective. So, after you were too freaking reckless for your own good we were both on edge, and I just… snapped.”

Clark huffs, rubbing at the back of his neck in shame.

“I said he was being a bad father… I-I said some things about how he treats you kids that… It might have been a little unfair. But he needed to hear it and I felt like the right person to say it, so I did.

They sit quietly for a little while, not quite knowing what to say, before Dick puffs up his cheeks and huffs out a deep breath, breaking the slightly awkward silence. They both chuckle a little.

“Well, it worked, I guess?” Dick says, shrugging with both hands in the air.

Clark nods, then frowns as something occurs to him. “He hasn’t come to talk to you yet, though?”

Dick sighs, shaking his head. “No, not yet. If I know Bruce, he went to Jason first to quell any anger from the rest of us. God knows I would’ve kicked his ass if he hadn’t, which he probably figured out. He must’ve just kept going with the other two after that. I haven’t been to Gotham in a while, so he probably just hasn’t found a good day to come visit or something.”

The young man looks fairly confident in his deduction, but Clark has known this kid since he was knee-high and knew him better than most because of it.

“He hasn’t forgotten you, Dick.”

Dick almost flinches at the claim, his shoulders hunching in on himself. “I know...”

“He hasn’t. Don’t you dare think that he doesn’t have something to say to you too, because he does.” Clark reaches across the table and lays his hand on top of Dick’s. “Trust me on this.”

He gets a small smile as a reward, but it doesn’t quite reach Dick’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A *much* shorter chapter than the last one, but again, it's meant to be a breather. 
> 
> I mean, a breather for Bruce, at least.


	6. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Dick's turn now and neither of them are ready for this.
> 
> ~~~~~~
> 
> A change in perspective! Just to freshen things up and to give Bruce a bit of a break. Plus, I feel like Dick really needed this, so I had to write it for him. Wish the boy luck, he'll need it.

“Do you ever sleep? Like, at all?”

Dick is leaning casually against the doorframe, an easy, if tired, smile on his lips as he greets his adoptive father. It’s 9:30 in the morning on a Saturday and Bruce is at his front door, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed (for once). His fresh-pressed shirt and pants contrast sharply with Dick’s stained sweatpants, but dammit Bruce it’s 9:30 in the morning on a _Saturday_ and Dick had a long night.

Bruce rolls his eyes and pushes past Dick into the apartment, making his way to the kitchen and getting to work on a pot of coffee. Dick lets out a chuckle and closes the door behind him. If there’s one thing he can count on from Morning-Bruce, it’s a decent cup o’ joe.

He joins his father in the kitchen, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard and pouring out a generous amount of cereal. He can feel Bruce’s mild judgement from across the room but ignores it, moving to grab the milk from the fridge and adding some to the bowl before setting it down next to the coffee-maker for Bruce. He grunts a thank you, and Dick smothers a grin. As put together as he might look, Bruce has never been and never will be a morning person. Dick snatches an apple out of the fruit bowl and tosses it to his father, who catches it without even looking up from pouring their coffee.

Such a familiar scene. It could have been cut and pasted from years before, when they were both so much younger and probably better for it.

They eat their breakfast in silence, squinting as sunlight shines through the gaps in Dick’s curtains. He just has a couple of bar stools set up around the island, so they sit next to each other, Bruce sipping at his coffee and Dick slurping down the last dregs of milk from his bowl, as they both start to wake up properly.

“Damian says hello.”

Dick blinks, not expecting conversation to start this early, but appreciating it all the same. “How is he?”

Bruce smiles. “Good. He’s more… open. I think spending time with the Teen Titans is… well, it’s giving him some freedom. Jon has also been helpful, they’re becoming good friends.”

“That’s good to hear.” Dick smiles fondly at the news of his little brother. He’s so proud of the little monster, of how far the kid has come.

They fall back into silence for a while. After rinsing out his dish and refilling both of their mugs, Dick leans on the other side of the island, his arms crossed under him. They might as well get this started.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He’s got a pretty good idea as to why his father is here, but he doesn’t think Bruce knows that _he_ knows. So, he might as well ask. The older man grips his mug with both hands, warming his fingers on the smooth surface. He doesn’t answer for a while.

“Dick, I’ve been doing some thinking…”

“A dangerous pastime.” Dick can’t help it. Bruce rolls his eyes. “Sorry, go on….”

It takes another moment for Bruce to start again.

“I haven’t always… I mean, I’m not the best at talking about… my feelings…”

“Really? Gosh, I never would have guessed.”

“Dick.”

“Sorry.”

“I just… I’ve been trying to be better with that lately. I’ve talked to your brothers about… well, about myself and them and our relationships and…”

Dick gasps dramatically. “Did Jason try to jump out the window again? Oh god, did Damian whip out the katana? Or did he just throw the cat at y-”

Bruce grits his teeth and huffs a frustrated sigh out of his nose.

“Richard, please, just shut up for one second.”

The acrobat clamps his lips together, his eyes full of mischief but staying quiet all the same. He could tell this was important to Bruce, and he didn’t want to step on his moment, but god this was priceless. Especially since he’d known it was coming.

“I know you and I have had some trouble in the past, and I understand that a lot of that came from my inexperience as a parent and my… inability, to let you do the things you needed to do on your own. I know that I… haven’t been a great father to you… There’s so much time that I wish I could make up for now, so much that I wish I could have done better for you.”

Dick’s pulse is starting to race. Okay, some new stuff coming out here. Maybe he wasn’t as prepared for this as he thought.

Bruce is staring down into his coffee, watching the beige liquid swirl around inside, as if he’s searching for words within it’s depths.

“But… I want you to know that… I’m proud of you.”

Nope, Dick is so not ready for this.

“After everything we’ve been through together, I don’t know if I’ve ever said that to your face. And I’m sorry for that. I don’t… I don’t do well when I get emotional, you know that. And it’s kept me from saying so many things that you deserved to hear when you were younger, I could just never get them out right.”

His throat is tight and his mouth is dry and he’s so restless he just wants to _move_ , but he roots himself to the floor and waits. He doesn’t want to interrupt his father. Doesn’t want him to stop talking.

“So… here’s me doing my best to say what I should have so many years ago.” Bruce takes a deep breath, while Dick holds his. “I’m glad that you’re not me.”

He’s fairly sure his ears are burning, and his hands are clammy as all hell.

“I’m glad that you never turned into me and I’ve never understood why people think that I wanted that.” Bruce shakes his head. “That whole point of me taking you in… was so that never happened. I never wanted you to turn out like me, and the day you moved into the manor I knew that you never would. We might share a lot of similarities, Dick, but you’ve never been me and I should have told you that it makes me _happy_.”

This feels like he’s nine years old again and hearing Bruce say the words ‘good job’ for the first time. It feels like strong arms catching him as he leaps off a building, like callused hands patching up bullet wounds and setting broken bones. It sounds like the same deep, gravelly voice telling him that everything is going to be alright moments after everything he’d ever known had fallen apart.

He feels like every small, insignificant moment of validation that he ever treasured as a child is being knocked out of the park by this conversation.

“When I first took you in… I told you that I would never be a father to you. Simply a teacher, a mentor. I said that because I never wanted to try and replace what you’d lost. I thought that’s what you needed. I know now that I was wrong. Yet… despite that, I’ve always thought of you as my son. I’ve always been proud of you like a father, loved you like a… a dad… I push you too hard, expect too much, because I know what you’re capable of. I always have. You are my greatest achievement.”

Dick is lightheaded, and he doesn’t realize that Bruce had stood up and walked around the island to stand next to him until he’s there, with a hand tight on his shoulder. He’s glad for it. It’s something to focus on, to hang onto in the wave of emotions that’s washing over him right now.

“I’m so grateful to you, Dick.” Bruce is quieter now. His voice low, and deeper. Like he’s getting emotional too. “For everything you did for me without even trying. For being the light to my dark when I needed it most. For the role you’ve played in all your brothers lives, and picking up the slack that I’ve left behind, intentionally or not. I’ve always been able to count on you to be better than me, and I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve let that responsibility weigh too heavy on your shoulders.”

Now both of Bruce’s hands are on his shoulders and he’s forcing Dick to look him in the eyes and, dear god, there’re tears in them and Dick is pretty sure his own eyes look the same.

“I love you, son. I never want you to-” Bruce chokes for a second, dropping his head to catch his breath and Dick thinks this might be the first time he’s ever seen Bruce quite like this. “I’m so sorry if I’ve ever made you feel like I don’t. I want to be a better… dad… if you’ll let me. I want you to be as proud of having me for a father as I am you for a son. I will always be so proud of you.”

Bruce is looking back up at him now and Dick has never seen such clear-cut emotion on his face before; he looks distraught and overwhelmed and heartbroken all at once, but the pride he’s talking about is shining so bright through all of that, Dick doesn’t know what to say. His grip on Dick’s shoulders is so tight but he can barely feel it.

“B…”

When Bruce starts to pull him close, Dick meets him halfway, never one to turn down a hug. They grasp so tightly at each other that Dick thinks he might shatter into a million pieces, but Bruce has always been what keeps him grounded. Dick can feel the tears start to stream down his face but he doesn’t care anymore. He can hardly breathe and his heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest but that doesn’t _matter_ any more because Bruce is _here_. Bruce _cares_.

Bruce loves him.

He’s known all along that he does, but he never knew how much he needed to hear all of this from Bruce himself. Dick had reasoned with himself that Bruce was busy, Bruce had responsibilities. Bruce isn’t his dad. He’s a guardian. A mentor. A surrogate father, maybe, but not his _dad_. But now all Dick can hear is ‘son’ and ‘better dad’ and ‘so proud’ and all at once he’s a child in Bruce’s arms just sobbing his heart out because _dammit Bruce, it’s too much._

Bruce just holds him up and murmurs soothing words into his hair, rubbing up and down his spine while his own tears trickle down his cheek. Bruce’s face is pressed against the side of his head, so Dick can feel them running down his temple and it just makes it that much harder to stop shaking because Bruce- _Bruce_ is crying too and it’s because of him and everything they’ve been through and Dick has no idea where to go from here but who cares, his dad loves him.

They’ve definitely been standing there for a while because the sun is shining into the room at a different angle now. They’re leaning against the island, trying to hold the other person up as much as they can but it’s really not doing much. Dick’s breathing has slowed down now and he’s not shaking so much, just sniffling against Bruce’s very wet shirt.

It takes a lot of effort to push himself away from Bruce, but he does it, wiping away salty tears and snot on the edge of his sleeve. Bruce reaches out and pushes a few tear-soaked strands of hair out of his face and Dick has take another shaky breath to stop the gesture from setting him off again. He glances up to see his dad wiping at his own tear-stained cheeks and his chest just hurts now.

“Jesus, Bruce…” Dick huffs out a laugh and smiles weakly his father, who lets out his own gruff chuckle. “Tim was right, you really don’t hold back.”

Bruce looks confused.

“He told me you guys talked… Damian and Jason too… I was wondering if you were gonna come and chat with me too, but damn… I wasn’t… I mean I didn’t…”

He lets out another watery breath and then he’s in Bruce’s arms again, wrapping his arms around his father’s waist and burying his face in his shoulder.

“I didn’t forget you, Dick.” Bruce murmurs, one hand on the back of his head and the other just resting on his back. “I just… This one was the hardest, if I’m honest… I needed some time to work up the courage… but don’t you think for one second that you were an after thought.”

Dick wonders how many tears he has left at this point, as more start to pour down his cheeks. They don’t come with sobs this time though, it’s just a steady stream down his face. No more hiccupping or hyperventilating.

When the tears stop coming Dick pulls away again, wiping them away with his sleeve, which is getting pretty gross at this point. He digs the heels of his palms into red-rimmed eyes, trying to rub away the last remnants of tears.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce sighs. “I didn’t mean to… well, I guess it was inevitable that this was going to be emotional but… I’m sorry I’ve let things get to this point.”

“You’re an idiot…” Dick shakes his head, poking Bruce in the arm, which makes him let out a short laugh.

“Yeah,” Bruce agrees, and Dick has to shake his head again to make sure he heard that right. “but I’m trying to make up for that now. Is that okay?”

“Okay?” Dick full-on smacks his shoulder this time, which prompts another laugh from his dad. “Of course it’s okay, you freak!”

Now they’re both laughing, and it feels so good to be standing in his kitchen with Bruce and just talking, no more tension or things left unsaid between them. Because everything that had needed to be said was said. Bruce was proud and Dick was euphoric, and god knows how his brothers felt right now but if it was anything like this then maybe, finally, they could start being more like a normal family.

As normal as a family of billionaires who run around rooftops in spandex can ever be.

Dick grabs his abandoned mug from the other side of the island takes a huge swig, only just realizing how dry his mouth had gotten. Bruce is leaning back against the island now, his arms crossed. He looks like he’s trying to say something else and Dick braces himself. He doesn’t know how much more he can take at this point.

“I’m thinking of having-… well, _trying_ to have everyone over for dinner next week.” Bruce mumbles, gazing down at the floor. “You, Damian, Tim, Duke… Jason, if he’ll come. Cassandra as well, and Stephanie and Barbara. Just… All of you kids. I wanted to try… a family dinner. I know that-… that it would mean a lot to… Alfred.”

Dick is shaking his head again, moving to lean against the island beside Bruce and bumping shoulders with him. “Just Alfred?”

“Me, too…”

He smiles. “Well then, I guess we better get started. It’s gonna be hell getting everyone together for one night, but I think it’s possible.”

“You think so?”

“Of course. We’re Bats, anything’s possible with a hard head and a good glare.”

Bruce is laughing now, and so is Dick, and it feels like nothing can ruin this moment.

“Besides, do you really think any of us can resist the call of Alfred’s Sunday roast dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of ya'll try to tell me that Bruce doesn't put milk and sugar in his coffee, I'll fight you. The only time Bruce drinks it black is when he's on three nights of no sleep and can't feel his tongue anymore, let alone taste anything. 
> 
> ~~~~~
> 
> That's it for now! Might do a bonus chapter or two later, but for now, this is what I needed to get out.
> 
> If anyone wants to yell at me about the batfam/dc or just general shenanigans, you can find me at notstars-doors.tumblr.com   
> Hit me up, ya'll!


End file.
